


Below The Belt Tactics

by nerddowell



Series: Drabbles + ficlets [5]
Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chevy has a cat and Philippe hates her, Domestic Fluff, I was encouraged and so here you are, M/M, Madame de Lorraine - Character - Freeform, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Philippe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 18:37:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11236845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerddowell/pseuds/nerddowell
Summary: ‘What does the love of my life want for breakfast this morning?’‘Toast and a coffee.’‘I was talking to the cat.’





	Below The Belt Tactics

**Author's Note:**

> I have done literally nothing but write Monchevy fic this weekend and I'm not ashamed at all.

His morning alarm doesn’t have chance to wake him up. That privilege is claimed by Chev’s cat Madame, who sits on his chest and miaows loudly until he cracks an eye open and makes a shoving movement at her. Chev walks into the bedroom and plucks her off his chest, cooing to her and kissing her nose, and she purrs and rubs her face against his jaw.

‘Good morning, beautiful,’ he smiles, and Philippe rolls his eyes.

‘I know you’re speaking to the cat.’

‘Of course! Who else?’ Chev says mischievously, flashing Philippe a cheeky grin, and scratches Madame lightly behind her ears, making her close her eyes in pleasure. Her brother Monseigneur is (thankfully, in Philippe's opinion) nowhere to be seen. Philippe says Chev spoils them, but Chev argues that every beloved cat should be allowed the run of the house and if he wants to feed them both slices of chicken prepared by the deli counter at Harrod’s and buy them a special cat seat to go over the (human) toilet so Madame can sit like a real lady then he will. Last Christmas he bought both she and Monseigneur an actual diamond charm each for their collars, and was outraged when Philippe’s mandatory gift for his furry little princess was a £3.99 catnip mouse from Pets at Home.

‘Philippe is a terrible grump in the morning, isn’t he, darling? My poor girl was viciously attacked – nearly thrown off the bed! Your fur is all ruffled–’

‘I barely touched her,’ Philippe protests as he rubs his eyes and sits up, ‘and she started it. I could’ve had a half-hour lie in before my alarm went off, but no, the Princess de Lorraine needed her gourmet duck fillets.’ He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to restore some semblance of order to the loose dark curls currently sticking up like a dandelion, and tucks the duvets back around his waist. He takes a moment to admire Chev’s smooth chest, newly waxed and golden from spending the first half of their weekend in the summer sun.

‘What does the love of my life want for breakfast this morning?’ Chev asks, smoothing Madame’s ruffled fur, and she paws at his nose, miaowing.

‘Toast and a coffee,’ Philippe says around a yawn, stretching.

‘I was talking to the cat.’

‘I don’t care,’ Philippe says, and pats Chev’s backside firmly with one hand. ‘You’ve got my order, now off you go.’

Chev leaves the room grumbling, still carrying the cat in cradled arms like a baby, and Philippe hears him chuntering to her as he stomps downstairs. Just to wind Chev up further, he leans out of bed a little so he can shout through the open doorway, ‘Don’t forget, no milk and two sugars!’ and gets an answering ‘Sod off!’

He grins and gets out of bed to go to the toilet, taking a moment to pause and admire his chest in the mirror. It’s been a long time coming, but he can finally take off his shirt and not have to worry about his binder, can go swimming just in trunks, can do everything he’s ever wanted to do like go topless in hot weather and get tattoos over his ribs that won't be warped or get chunks missing from the scars. Pierce his nipples. He imagines Chev’s face if he did the latter and laughs. He washes his hands when he’s done and ambles back to the bedroom, picking up pieces of laundry he missed on Thursday’s run to the laundrette and putting them in the plastic shopping bag doubling as a hamper for them at the end of their bed.

Chev eventually comes back upstairs carrying two plates of toast and a mug of coffee each, and Philippe sees that he’s gotten his revenge by deliberately serving him his coffee in his least favourite mug. It’s the one Chev got him in Amsterdam as a joke for their first anniversary, and it’s shaped like a male torso with an enormous penis forming the handle. Chev had been delighted and thought it was hilarious. He’d bought one for Philippe, one for Liselotte (who hates hers as much, if not more, than Philippe does his) and one for Louis’ valet Bontemps, who surprised them both (and massively disappointed Chev) by reacting with only an eyebrow raise and then deliberately from then on making every one of his own hot drinks in the mug and consuming them with a totally straight face.

Chev smiles and blinks innocently as he takes a bite of toast, and Philippe just rolls his eyes. He hates this mug, but he’s not going to give Chev the satisfaction of making a fuss about it. Instead, he decides to make Chev as uncomfortable as this mug makes him, and foregoes his toast in lieu of putting his mug down on the bedside table and imitating the filthiest fellatio he can imagine on the ceramic penis. Chev’s eyes glaze over slightly and his pyjama bottoms develop a noticeable tent before he snaps out of it and glowers at Philippe.

‘Rather below-the-belt tactics, darling.’

‘No,’ says Philippe, dragging Chev’s pyjama bottoms down slowly as he leans in, ‘ _this_ is below the belt.’

Madame is miaowing loudly from the kitchen to be let out, but her owner can’t hear her over the wet sucking noises of Philippe’s mouth and his own ecstatic cries.


End file.
